


Morning After Blues

by Penknife



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/pseuds/Penknife
Summary: It's not Dorian's usual regrettable morning after.





	Morning After Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



"I hope you don't believe that I—" Dorian begins in a tone that he intends to be crisp but that he's afraid merely sounds brittle.

"I don't," Cullen says, his own voice hoarse.

"Because obviously blood magic is one way that this particular effect could have been produced, but I would never—"

"Stop apologizing for something you didn't do."

"I appreciate your faith in me."

"Well. Good," Cullen says, sounding less than perfectly articulate, like someone who does not normally find himself naked except for a bedsheet that is somewhat the worse for wear for having been the scene of their mutual debauchery.

Dorian finds the details far more familiar, from their clothing, strewn impressively widely around the room, to the way that the memories of the event itself blur into a haze of erotic images and sensations, to the sinking feeling that comes with sobering up to find oneself in bed with someone unfortunate.

The problem is that he is as deadly certain as it is possible to be that he hadn't been drinking when they began this, and equally certain that neither one of them had intended to begin it. The impulse had begun as an insistent fantasy, the familiar "then again, why shouldn't I" of the temptations he was practiced at resisting. He had resisted for entire seconds, until Cullen had drawn him into a fevered embrace and begun trying to remove both their clothes.

He can't remember _deciding_ to give way to the desire throbbing through his veins, but he can remember cooperating happily in the removal of clothes. He can't remember why this seemed like a good idea. It's possible that this never seemed like a good idea, even while they were—

"You all right?" Cullen asks, in a tone that suggests that he actually cares about the answer.

"I certainly enjoyed myself while temporarily behaving like a lunatic, if that's your concern. That was—" He has to clear his throat. "I'm not sure that 'enjoyable' is quite the word."

"More than that," Cullen says. "Like a pleasure drug."

"Yes." He can easily see how someone would find the experience addictive. It would probably be possible to duplicate it, if he were completely and utterly unethical. If he only ever used it on himself—"Someone," he says, more calmly than he feels, "is an utter bastard."

"Someone is, but I don't think it's you," Cullen says. "You have more good sense."

"Compliments, again. You'll turn my head."

"Don't tell me you still have the energy."

"Well, not right now." Dorian leans back on his elbows and considers Cullen, who has retreated beneath the sheet for modesty's sake. "Ask me again another time."

"I, ah …" Cullen says.

"Not that I imagine you will," Dorian says, and wonders where his trousers are. He wonders how much of one's life it's really advisable to spend wondering where one's trousers are.

"Well, not right now," Cullen says, sounding amused, and Dorian decides he will blame the little flicker of anticipation he feels at the words on the aftereffects of a peculiar experience. "Where are all my clothes?"

"They can't have gone far," Dorian says, and lets Cullen do the energetic work of finding them.


End file.
